When Your Lights Have Gone
by lemmesay
Summary: 3x22 reaction ficlet. I know everybody have been reacting to the NYADA news, but all *I* got from the episode was Kurt and Blaine growing old together in a nursing home. And I thought. Why would they be in a nursing home if they were still together?


They sit across from each other, hands locked, the rough pads of their fingers rubbing the wrinkled skin in a well practiced motion. Kurt likes to think of it as elephant skin these days (_Because of the texture? Because of the texture.)_ but of course, in reality, it's everything but. Fragile and almost paper-thin, stretching across his bones in miniscule patches of pale pink and ivory. (Blaine's is beige.) Here's to all the years of intensive skin-care regime which turned his body _pearly_ on the surface. And goddammit, that makes him sound like a shellfish. _What?_ He's almost sure he'd sparkle if he exposed it to the sun, and that just sounds tacky. He doesn't come out much, though, these days.

"You've always had this thing for dragging me out into the sun. I hated you for it, but I secretly loved it too, because it gave me the opportunity to see your all lit up, inside-out." Kurt licks his lips, frowning a little as he feels them all chapped under his tongue.

"You never cared your boyfriend looked like an oversized mushroom every summer. Mind you, my hats were nothing short of fabulous." He smiles, thin lipped and warm, his eyes catching the swirls of hazel in Blaine's as they clutch each other's hands.

They don't do much of anything else, these days.

There's this old harpsichord in the dining room Kurt sometimes likes to sit at, eyes sweeping across the keys, hands shyly touching the ebony. He never plays it though, the quirky sounds of its strings make him feel dizzy in a bad way. He still likes the memories and he always watches it fondly as they sit at the nearest table during their meals and the only clinking he can hear is their cutlery cutting the silence in the room.

Things fade away.

Kurt had known that. Of course he knew. He's not stupid. He's at peace with things. Sometimes, it gets really hard, because this is sort of like loneliness, all over again, only trapped in a much more fragile body. But then it's not. It's not, because he can still be happy _despite_ the loneliness. It's complicated in its simplicity. Oh, and thinking about this makes his head spin.

He rubs his forehead with his other hand, closing his eyes for a second.

This is the 'now' he cherishes. He decided upon that a long time ago. The man opposite him doesn't talk much, but he rarely stops smiling, his eyes just as huge and just as sparkly as they used to be. Only there's tiny fans of wrinkles underneath, now. Kurt thinks it's cute.

"I still hate you for the hair thing, you know. I could have sworn you were going to get bald by the age of 45, when we were in college. Yet, you managed to show us all, including Rachel, which seems unbelievable. Maybe it was all the gel that saved you. That would be beautifully ironic, don't you think?"

His own hair got really thin. It was a tragedy in the Hummel-Anderson household, when he started losing them. It seems pathetic now, but there were pools of tears with every lost patch, comforted by Blaine's cuddles and Beatles songs and soft kisses on the nose.

They danced around their living room, wrapped in each other's arms, softly singing into each other's ears.

_Give me your answer, fill in a form__, m__ine for evermore, will you still need me, will you still feed me,__when I'm sixty-four?_

Blaine never failed to remind Kurt that he would always stay beautiful in his eyes.

Kurt likes to run his hand's through Blaine's hair. They're still ridiculously curly, but peppered with silver in earnest. Blaine could always wear his grey well. They called him the Silver Fox in the theatre.

"Fuck your perfect genetics," he curses and watches Blaine's smile grow into a mischievous smirk.

"Shut up," he adds for a good measure, but chuckles himself, because it _is_ a little bit funny.

Blaine's fingers tighten around his wrist.

"Could you tell me again?" his voice is scratchy, but still lovely. Kurt blinks, lips curling into soft knowing smile.

"Of course, dear."

Blaine loves listening to the stories from many years ago. His eyes never leave Kurt for a minute and Kurt loves it. _The look_. Like he's the supernova and it's impossible for him to look anywhere else. And his expression is always just _stunned_. Like he can't believe Kurt is there with him. His eyes sweep across Kurt's features, their interlaced fingers, the rings, and Kurt can feel his heart beating wildly through his fingertips.

And Kurt tells him the story of Kurt and Blaine all over again, smiling, because it's their story and he loves telling it, loves when Blaine's face brightens up in all the right places and his breath hitches every time Kurt gets to the part where they fight for a week because of some stupid work thing and Blaine almost leaves the apartment for good. But in the end, the 30-year-old Blaine from the story stays and Blaine's grip on Kurt's wrist loosens again as he breaths out in relief.

"And then, they lived happily ever after."

Kurt finishes his story and takes a tiny careful sip of his tea, sighing a little as the sour liquid touches his tongue.

Blaine's eyes are drooping and Kurt knows that if he doses off in the common room, he'll never be able to wake him up, force him his meds (that he hates) and get him back to their room on his own.

He reaches out to touch Blaine's face, gently rubbing his cheek with his thumb.

"Blaine, sweetheart. You need to wake up so you can go to sleep."

He giggles when Blaine grumbles in his slumber, eyes blinking open. He stares at Kurt in confusion, his eyes so big and so brown and Kurt wants to cry. His hand shakes a little as he fishes for a pack of tissues in his pocket, eyes welling with tears.

He feels a tap on his shoulder and looks up to see Blaine handing him his neatly folded monogrammed handkerchief.

"Don't cry, please," he says and Kurt doesn't want to anymore. He wants to laugh. He wants to jump into Blaine's arms and never let go. He chuckles wetly.

"Fine, I won't," he says, taking the handkerchief and drying his eyes with it. "Thanks."

Blaine cocks his head to a side, subtle blush colouring his cheeks as he takes it back. He places it into his breast pocket carefully and reaches his hand towards Kurt again.

"My name's Blaine," he says and he's smiling with his eyes.

And it's ok, because Kurt is happy. He really is. Because this is all he ever wanted. Gushing about his high-school sweetheart, knitting knee-length sweaters by the fireplace, having his husband fall in love with him all over again every day...

He blushes himself, forcing back new tears as he takes Blaine's hand, ivory and beige blending together.

"Kurt."

-end

_if you liked this little story, please come and like it/reblog it on my tumblr so I don't feel like I suck so much __3__ the url is still bentbackedtulip_


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